Red Days, White Nights
by Findegil
Summary: Jane always disavowed the supernatural, until the day this belief shattered and he was stuck, endlessly reliving what he thought would become the worst day of his entire life. Jisbon!
1. Chapter 1

I do not own The Mentalist or Groundhog Day...nor will I copy either of these two materials entirely. *nervous laugh*

* * *

It started out as day just like any other. Jane got up. He took a shower. He got dressed. He ate his customary breakfast of toast and tea. He drove to the CBI headquarters. Normal.

"Good morning Van Pelt, Rigsby, Cho," Jane said as he entered the room.

"Good morning Jane," Van Pelt smiled. It was clear to Jane she must have found out that Rigsby had broken up with his latest fling.

"Morning," said Cho, without looking up from his paperwork.

"Mpgh," mumbled Rigsby. He was taking the breakup worse than the last few women he dated. The thought crossed Jane's mind that she must have been out of Rigsby's league.

Jane was wavering between going to bother Lisbon and getting a cup of tea (and bothering Lisbon was about to win out) when he saw her out of the corner of his eye slink out of her office. This was her patented get-morning-coffee-without-having-to-talk-to-anyone slink, and so Jane decided to kill two birds with one stone. He entered the kitchen moments after she did.

"Please tell me you didn't come in here to 'bid' me good morning like yesterday."

"Good morning Lisbon," said Jane. This was followed by a teasing smirk, as Lisbon grimaced, "There's nothing good about mornings." Everything about Lisbon this morning screamed a bad night's sleep.

"Except for morning beverages," he said reverently, all mock seriousness now.

"True," she admitted, as she poured herself a huge cup of coffee. Jane opened his mouth to speak, but got cut off. "Don't tell me about the disadvantages of drinking too much coffee. I know you're thinking it. And yes, you were going to use the word 'disadvantages.'"

"Au contraire, my dear," Jane said, a bit put out she knew exactly what was he was about to declaim, "I was going to use detriment."

"Really, 'detriment'? Are you a walking thesaurus now?"

Jane, in response, started to brew his tea. Lisbon took a sip of her coffee, grimaced, and poured a more than generous amount of milk into it.

"And I'll have you know that your black tea has about the same amount of caffeine as this weak stuff does."

"As I can see your coffee contains a much higher ratio of milk to 'this weak stuff,' I agree wholeheartedly." Jane glanced over at Lisbon to see her eyes about forty percent open. This was a good gain, considering what time it was.

"Well, since you seem to be awake enough to use words like thesaurus, my work here is done."

Jane exited the kitchen, cup in hand, as Lisbon shot a death ray glare into his back. Granted, the glare was rendered less lethal because her eyes were still only slits, but if glares could kill, Jane would have been dead many times over.

It was not until Jane's morning nap was over that the day began to deviate its usual pattern of sleep, Sudoku puzzles, and teasing Lisbon (not necessarily in that order).

The call came in at 12:08 about a double homicide. Local police near Lassen National Park suspected a human and drug trafficking ring. Rumors were brandied about that influential members of the state legislature and congress protected the ring from criminal prosecution. Lisbon mentioned the rumors in her briefing as the main reason the team had been assigned the case.

Political corruption and human rights violations made for some of the most delicate cases to prosecute, and Lisbon made sure Jane knew this before they visited the crime scene. In fact, she gave him a lecture on etiquette on their drive there. The only useful information Jane got out of it was that Lisbon went to a preparatory or possibly a Catholic School at some point in her education. This led to images of a young Lisbon in a plaid uniform complete with knee socks, at which Jane snickered loud enough for Lisbon to hear.

"I swear Jane, if you can't be serious about this, I'm going to pull off to the side of the road and let you hitchhike your way back to the CBI," Lisbon threatened.

"Oh, I'd just hitchhike my way to the crime scene," replied Jane.

"Fifty bucks says he'd get there before we did," piped in Cho from the back seat. Jane surmised Cho was not feeling gracious towards Lisbon, as riding in the back seat of the car and reading did not sit well with him. He looked a touch green around the gills as he doggedly clung to his book.

At 3:38 PM, the team arrived at the crime scene. Jane felt cheated of his afternoon nap, because the murders turned out to be so devoid of creativity. They were single bullet shot wounds exiting clear from the bodies, no shell casings or bullets found, and the bodies dumped off the trail not far into the park. Forensics was working to find trace evidence, but Jane could see that they wouldn't find much. It looked like a fairly professional job, but then that was to be expected with organized crime rings.

At 4:02, Lisbon decided to check in with the local police and then head back. Jane tried to coerce her into letting him go back home with Van Pelt and Rigsby. He thought there might be some fun to be had on a three hour drive, Rigsby's break up being so recent and all. Jane wondered briefly whether they had talked about it during the ride up. He decided they hadn't. Van Pelt avoided conflict and Rigsby would never bring it up. But Jane certainly would.

Lisbon, however, wanted Jane where she could keep track of him. They proceeded to interview the police assigned to the case, and that was when Jane recognized one of the drug ring suspects as his former client. He pressed Lisbon to investigate the man further, remembering that he had had some large skeletons in his closet. After some prodding, Lisbon caved and they drove over to the suspect's house.

As dusk turned into night the trio walked up the path, dodging shrubs and trees to get to the house. Once Jane picked the lock, time seemed to slow down.

Jane could later place in detail every item of furniture, every picture, every carpet stain or chipped tile in the hallway, the living room, the kitchen in that accursed house.

Lisbon called out the suspect's name every so often.

Both Cho and Lisbon had their guns drawn, stepping cautiously, but not cautiously enough.

He was waiting for them to come around the exact precise corner.

At 5:53 PM, Jane heard what changed this day from normal to Earth shattering.

A gunshot called out. It was a single wound to the head.

Teresa Lisbon died instantly.

She dropped to the floor as Cho fired back, taking out the suspect.

Jane's heart dropped with her.

* * *

Somehow, Jane got up the next day. He took a shower. He got dressed. He choked down his customary breakfast of toast and tea. He drove to the CBI headquarters. All was normal, except for one thing. There was one glaring difference.

"Van Pelt. Rigsby. Cho," Jane said as he entered the room, feeling his world spiraling out of control, again.

"Good morning Jane," Van Pelt smiled. Jane wondered how anyone could smile after a day like yesterday. Images of his wife, daughter, and now Lisbon drowned in crimson stains danced through his mind.

"Morning," said Cho, without looking up from his paperwork. Jane could not take much more of this.

"Mpgh," mumbled Rigsby.

As Jane stood there in a slight daze, wondering how much his remaining team members would keep reminding him of what happened yesterday—and then what had happened to his family—he saw something out of the corner of his eye slink out of Lisbon's office. He did not at first believe what he saw, but after processing it for a moment, he rushed into the kitchen.

"Please tell me you didn't come in here to 'bid' me good morning like yesterday."

Jane just stared, speechless for the first time in his entire life.

"There's nothing good about mornings," Lisbon continued, eying the coffee pot with derision.

"Except for morning beverages," he murmured, unable to take his gaze off of Lisbon, who looked perfectly healthy (albeit sleepy).

"True," she admitted, as she poured herself a huge cup of coffee. Jane opened his mouth to speak, but got cut off. "Don't tell me about the disadvantages of drinking too much coffee. I know you're thinking it. And yes, you were going to use the word 'disadvantages.'"

"Au contraire, my dear," Jane said, still staring, his mind a blaze of thoughts, speculations, and emotions all tangled up into one thought: this cannot be happening. The thought crossed his mind that he was going crazy. Again. "I was going to ask you to pinch me."

"Are you crazy?" Lisbon asked, a bit troubled. Oh, she didn't know the half of it. "You look like you've seen a ghost. And I know you don't believe in ghosts." That was ironic. Lisbon, who should be dead, was lecturing him on being rational.

"Just pinch me. Hard."

Lisbon shrugged and complied.

"Ouch!" Jane rubbed his arm, despondent now. "Well, that's one possibility out of the way."

"Would you tell me what this is all about?"

"I thought about it," Jane said, "but you wouldn't believe me if I did. Sorry Lisbon."

He moved to leave the kitchen. "Just chalk it up to me being whimsical as usual," he threw back over his shoulder.

Lisbon was left standing, coffee cup in hand, staring after him.

* * *

Would anyone like to beta the rest of the story? Pretty please? There are still some plot issues to be ironed out, and it would help me immensely to have someone motivate me to write.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you all for the reviews and the beta offers! It's awesome to have input on what I write so that I can make it better, and I truly appreciate the time and effort it takes. Now I edit/proofread even more than I usually do, lol. :)

* * *

Jane walked back to the couch, trying to wrap his head around the situation. This day had happened before; it was yesterday repeating itself. Everyone, including him at times, had said the exact same "lines" as they had yesterday. As he settled down on the couch, the thought came to him that they were puppets on a stage, actors in a warped television drama, players in a elegiac tragedy, doomed to enact the same horrible parts day after day for an unknown audience—if there even was one. Jane thought he felt more sympathy for Hamlet and Othello than he ever had before. He also cursed writers everywhere who put their characters in painful situations, and the audiences who enjoyed watching or reading them. _Especially_ the audiences. Who, in their right mind, would enjoy watching this torment? Maybe he was going crazy… or had already gone crazy. It had happened before, after all.

As Jane wrestled with these thoughts, he decided to test another theory.

"Van Pelt, are you busy?"

"You'll talk to me even if I say yes, so go ahead," answered Van Pelt, not taking her eyes off of the computer screen.

"Hypothetical situation: you're repeating a single day forever. No one but you knows it's repeating. What do you do?"

"What's the catch?"

"Catch?"

"Yeah, there's always a catch in your hypothetical situations."

Jane thought this was a bit unfair, but he pressed on: "Okay, the catch is that the day always ends with the same terrible thing happening."

At this, Van Pelt shot a pointed look at Jane as he feigned innocence on the couch. "Sounds like a dark version of _Groundhog Day_."

"Sure. Now answer the question."

"You haven't seen _Groundhog Day_?" Van Pelt sounded shocked.

"Yes, my knowledge of movies is limited. Now, my guess is you will avoid the question by saying you don't know and have to think about it some more."

"Why do you even ask when you know the answer?" Van Pelt complained.

"Rigsby? Cho? Same question."

"Read," answered Cho in his characteristic monotone. He had just started _Crime and Punishment_.

"That's what you do every day," said Rigsby.

"Yeah. Your point?"

"Jane's basically asking what you would do if there were no consequences to your actions. If you had a fresh start every single day," Van Pelt explained.

Cho shrugged.

"No consequences, and you pick reading!" scoffed Rigsby. "I'd eat as much as possible. And then every day I'd get a new hot chi…"

He trailed off as Van Pelt gave him a death glare. Jane surmised she must have been taking lessons from Lisbon. Ah well, fairly predictable responses from the team so far. He would see how Lisbon did.

* * *

"Isn't that just a warped, sadistic version of _Groundhog Day_?" asked Lisbon, chin deep in paperwork.

"How about answering the question?" asked Jane in reply from the couch in Lisbon's office. "I'm going to have to rent this movie…" he continued in a mumble to himself.

"What was that?"

"Oh, nothing. I'm just waiting."

Lisbon put down the file she was studying and studied him.

"You said no one else remembers what I did from day to day?"

"Ah, you just thought of something," grinned Jane, taking one hand from behind his head and pointing a finger at her. "Something… slightly inappropriate, perhaps?"

"If I had—which I'm not saying I did—I'd never in a million years tell you," scowled Lisbon. "You'd never let me hear the end of it."

"Agent Lisbon has a secret vice…interesting."

"Yeah, that word comes up way too often when you're talking to me."

Jane simply gave her a megawatt grin in reply.

Lisbon knew she'd put her foot in it yet again, and tried valiantly to get out of it. "For one thing, I'd catch up on this paperwork," she said, turning back to it.

"Oh, come now Lisbon, you wouldn't do something as mundane as paperwork for eternity," said Jane, his grin even bigger now.

"And now you've worn out your welcome. Leave, or I get someone to escort you out. Or I shoot you. Take your pick."

Jane held up his hands in mock surrender, and got up from the couch. As he left, he glanced at the clock. 9:04. Almost a new record for getting kicked out.

In order to knock down another possibility, Jane decided to see a neuropathologist. The visit was singularly unpleasant, but served as proof that he was not growing a tumor that was giving him hallucinations. Another theory gone. With this in mind, Jane settled down to wait for 12:08.

Right at 12:08, the call came in. Jane felt an increasing sense of dread centered at the pit of his stomach as Lisbon recited the exact same speech, word for word, as she did yesterday.

Once he slithered out of going with the team to the crime scene, he broke down and called Dr. Miller. Although skeptical at first, Miller suggested he wait the day out and see what happened. If time had looped on this particular day, then she would not even remember this conversation happening. If, however, time went on as usual tomorrow, then there was cause for concern.

The thought that he might be taken away again and put in a locked room—a white, spotless, immaculate room—was almost more than he could bear to contemplate. It was almost worse than seeing Lisbon die. He would rather die by his own hand then be taken back there.

Jane pondered what would be worse: being stuck in a supernatural time loop, or being insane. Grudgingly, he decided the impossible, irrational former option was the better one. There was at least some hope for change. If he was slipping into insanity from "trauma" (to use Dr. Miller's term) related to grief, then there was little hope, because this was all in his mind.

He spent the rest of the afternoon clutching his cell phone as he lay curled on the couch. His feelings vacillated between hope and despair—hope, on one hand, that his mind was not just making this day up, and despair on the other that if this was real, Lisbon would be killed for the second time in as many days. And Jane was powerless to stop it.

A little after 5:53 PM, Jane's phone rang. It was Cho.

"Hello?" Jane answered the phone, somewhat frantic by this time.

"Jane? Are you all right?"

"If my guess is correct, I think I should be asking you that question."

Cho paused for a moment as if to take this in, then went on. "It's Lisbon."

"Ah. I thought so."

"What?"

"Bullet shot to the head?" asked Jane, the feeling of dread almost palpable now.

"Yeah. How did you…"

"Oh, believe me, you don't want to know."

* * *

Jane walked slowly up the staircase, dark thoughts converging in his mind. He opened the door to the room, empty except for a red smiley face, a mattress, and his own thoughts. This is where he went to do battle against the darkness, to keep it at bay, and to remember. This night he went to do both.

He lay flat on the mattress, springs poking his back, and looked up at the face on the wall. Each moment of Lisbon's death played in his mind. Then he remembered each moment of the night he found his wife and child here, in this room.

After sifting through his memories he found himself thinking of what to do in this unending, torturous day. There was first a vision of himself taking an innumerable amount of days hunting down Red John. Once he had found him (as it was eternity, Jane _would_ eventually find him), Jane then imagined an infinite amount of days torturing, and killing him. He could think of a million ways to do it: drowning, impaling, gouging, igniting, shooting, stabbing, cutting…and then the thought came to him. What he imagined was hell, which Jane steadfastly refused to believe existed. In his vision there were an infinite number of days where Red John suffered and died, but also an infinite number he woke up again, whole, oblivious to his fate. The hell Jane would create would simply take the night to undo. Then it would start all over again, Jane playing the part of the devil, Red John the soul writhing in hellfire torment.

As soon as Jane realized this, his desire for vengeance stilled, and he turned again to the problem of what he would do with eternity. Here he was, confronted by what he disavowed—an afterlife— yet he could think of nothing he wanted to do except get out of it. That, and erase the memory of Lisbon's death from his mind. If the "Universe" was out to make eternity a personal hell, he would have to find a way to cheat death, and thus undo what this day had done. He decided he had to figure out a way to keep his promise to Lisbon that he would always save her, no matter what happened. And he had eternity to do it.

What Jane did not know as he fell asleep, hopeful thoughts clouding his reason, was that the "Universe" has a way of correcting itself. When one tries to prevent tragedy, one is always confronted with the inevitable. Unfortunately (for Jane had also not seen _Lost_), he went to sleep, blissful and unaware of the futility of such thoughts.

* * *

This chapter was mostly exposition/Jane being hyper-rational about things, so I hope the next chapter will be more "entertaining." If you got this far, thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Many many thanks to Famous4it for motivating me to write this chapter!

* * *

There are some people who espouse the adage "the early bird catches the worm." Teresa Lisbon had a special disdain for these people. After an unfortunate encounter with a hyper coffee house employee, a perky parking garage attendant, and a cheerful receptionist (all in quick succession at an ungodly hour of the morning), she decided that nearly all morning people were extroverts, and that she hated them even more than people who spouted stupid adages.

That was why she arrived at work earlier than most: to avoid the sweet, dulcet tones of morning greetings when she just wanted go home, crawl under her covers, and drift into sleep. Most of her evenings were either spent at the office or with paperwork at home, since she worked better at night. It was not—as Jane had insinuated on several occasions—that she had no social life. It was Jane also who picked up right away her aversion for mornings, and had seemed determined to put his "Bother Lisbon" mask of cheerfulness on almost every morning. Most days she could ignore it.

Today was not one of those days.

Lisbon had just escaped into the kitchen for more coffee when Jane slinked in after her. Was he going to shadow her all day like this? God, she hoped not.

"Please tell me you didn't come in here to 'bid' me good morning."

"Good morning Lisbon," said Jane with a Cheshire Cat grin.

Lisbon grimaced, and Jane continued, "Yes, I know, there's nothing good about mornings." Oh joy, he was reading her mind again.

"Except," he said, beating her to the coffee and murmuring in her ear, "for morning beverages." Jane leaned around her to scoop up her cup in his right hand, to join the pot in his left.

As he poured the coffee into the sink next to them, Lisbon stood frozen to the spot in disbelief. Most of the coffee was gone before she found her voice.

"Just what do you think you're doing?"

Lisbon felt annoyed not only because he was pouring her precious coffee out, but also because he was far too close to her for comfort. Jane often abruptly invaded her personal space, and it never ceased to unnerve her, which he seemed to take a perverse enjoyment in. This time, however, her estimation of his motive was quite wrong. Jane had, on this occasion, deftly picked her pockets for both her car keys and cell phone.

"Believe me, you'll thank me later," he said, giving the pot back, still standing behind Lisbon with both arms encircling her, just a breath away from touching her. "It was far too weak for your taste. I suggest you make another pot."

Jane moved away from her and exited the kitchen, as Lisbon stood, trying to keep thoughts of how it felt to have him so close to her at bay with thoughts of how in the world he knew the coffee was weak. She was largely unsuccessful at this.

Sauntering back to his couch, Jane hid the phone and keys in it and napped on them for the rest of the morning, looking to all intents as smug as a dragon nesting on his mound of golden treasure.

He had worked out last night that even without his needling persistence that they go interview the suspect, Lisbon would somehow still end up entering the shooter's house. This meant that he had to prevent her from entering the house in the first place. That, in turn, meant preventing her from taking the case at all, if possible. What seemed most simple to him was to cut off all her lines of communication outside of the office.

Thus, 12:08 came and went uneventfully, with Lisbon too bogged down in paperwork to notice the absence of her cell phone, or that her desktop phone was mysteriously unplugged. It wasn't until Hightower herself swept in to lecture Lisbon on answering her calls that Lisbon suspected anything.

She then stalked over to Jane's couch. (Nearly everyone now thought of it as Jane's couch.)

"Now, if this were any other work environment I would be frantically searching for my phone and keys right this moment."

"I would recommend doing that as well."

"No, you're going to tell me where you hid the things you pilfered from me."

"Oh Lisbon, do you really think I'd be brazen enough to 'pilfer' your cell phone and keys inside the CBI headquarters?"

"Need I remind you that you bugged an agent's office and got sent to jail for doing it?"

"Meh, that was a long time ago. I've turned over a new leaf."

Lisbon just glared at him, and when he continued to pretend to sleep, turned and left, too angry to even spend the time trying to get him to tell her where they were.

"Cho, you're driving. Rigsby, Van Pelt, let's go." She barked, leaving woe in her wake as she sailed towards the door.

Lisbon vowed to one day punch her consultant in the nose again, enough to break it this time. The pain would show him there were consequences to his actions, if nothing else did. It was actually a wonder she'd only done it once, she thought, and this showed the considerable restraint she had when it came to Jane. If she had but stopped to examine the real reasons for this restraint, however, she would have been forced to admit things kept hidden in the deepest, darkest corners of her mind.

Jane watched her exit with amusement. On his part, it never ceased to amaze him how well she had come to be able to predict his moves. If it were any other person (with the exception perhaps of Hightower, who was largely unpredictable herself), they would have spent the afternoon retracing their steps, wondering where they had left or lost the items. But Lisbon, she jumped right to the logical suspect in any abnormal occurrence. To be honest, his real objective at the time had been her cell phone, not her keys. They were in the same pocket though, and Jane thought anything to slow her down would help.

Although his plan to prevent her even going to the crime scene was thwarted, he had stalled her enough for dusk to fall right as they arrived into Lassen. Lisbon, Cho, and Rigsby took one car to the scene, and Jane had persuaded Van Pelt to drive with him there in his. This way, he could keep an eye on Lisbon in order to keep this a normal, routine case.

With uncanny swiftness he rattled off what had likely happened to the victims, describing the wounds after what was at most a cursory glance at the bodies. Lisbon took it as Jane making it up to her for whatever it was that had possessed him to wreak havoc on her patience today. While she was not quite correct in guessing his motives, her somewhat improved mood served to hurry them through the crime scene procedures. After telling the officers in charge that they would be back early the next morning, the team packed up to go home.

"Well, I'm glad that's over," sighed Jane, who had slid up to her side undetected. When it was clear Lisbon was going to ignore him, he continued, "Though it feels nice to get out of the city for a change."

Lisbon walked faster, yearning to be at the car up ahead.

"You know that I'm going to keep at this until you talk to me. Or tell me to shut up."

She stopped and turned to face him.

"Okay then, you want to do this now? Because I'm just _thrilled_ that today, because of you, I sunk even further in Hightower's opinion, drove three hours for you to pronounce the case normal, and still have to get up early to drive here again tomorrow!"

"I think blaming me for those last two's a bit unfair, since I was trying to avoid having you here at all today," smiled Jane, hands in his pockets.

Lisbon stared at him for a moment, his smile still unflagging. "I don't know why I even try…" With this, Lisbon turned away and started walking again, faster this time.

"I guess this means you won't want to drive back with Van Pelt and me?" Jane called out after her. Lisbon thought that question needed no reply.

As he followed Cho during the drive back to Sacramento, Jane was congratulating himself on a job well done. Lisbon would come around tomorrow, or perhaps the next day. The nightmare of the past few days would fade into memory, would even be questioned whether they were real at all after months passed into years. Jane had just decided he would surprise Lisbon with some strong coffee as an apology the next morning at work when the unthinkable happened.

All Jane could see was the headlights of an oncoming truck reflected in his windshield, too close to the car he was following. Cho reacted, but not quickly enough. At 65 miles per hour, the resulting head on collision was such that Jane almost did not react quickly enough, and as he swerved and braked he knew the car behind him would not react quickly enough either. What crossed his mind during the moments when time slowed was not that he had failed again, but that he had been unable to tell Lisbon he was sorry, or see her smile at all that day.

He and Van Pelt staggered from the car, Van Pelt taking out her phone to call for help, Jane laboring over to the wreck. His footsteps across the asphalt were leaden, his body tense, his breath in small gasps. Once at what remained of the car, he knew that Van Pelt's call would be in vain. The airbags had failed to deploy, and Lisbon's skull had made an angry red shatter in the windshield, with cracks like empty veins radiating out in all directions from it. Jane leaned both arms against the crushed frame, his legs unable to bear his full weight after seeing the blood. All his earlier confidence was shattered like the glass with one look in the window at her, and he fell to his knees, unable in his shock to feel gravel and glass enter them. The last thing Jane remembered that night was the metallic taste of blood in his mouth as he touched Lisbon's cheek, smearing red over her pale skin and closing her empty green eyes.

* * *

I hate car accidents...I was in one 9 years ago on my way back from graduation practice and still have the scars on my elbow where glass went in my left arm. Time does seem to slow down, and you don't feel pain at all until much later. I remember looking down at the blood gushing out my arm and wondering why I couldn't feel anything...


	4. Chapter 4

Poor Jane, I feel more and more like a sadist with every chapter... Again, many thanks for the reviews and even for reading this far! And thank you, C, for finding my typos in the last chapter and this one. *dies*

* * *

Jane began to dread waking up more and more, as each morning refused to deviate from the same pattern. Every day he would spend hours desperately thinking up ways to keep Lisbon from being killed. He sneaked into her apartment and changed her alarm (a spectacular failure). He got Hightower to suspend her for the day (an ingenious piece of work he was particularly proud of until it self-destructed). He even tried to hypnotize her into avoiding danger that day (which, of course, was vague enough to be absolutely worthless, for it was death that sought her out). Every day his carefully laid plans failed. Every day Lisbon would die in new, unexpected ways. All his mental acuity seemed dulled with the death each day brought, taunting him, as if to say that there was nothing he could do for her, no matter how hard he tried. There were so many failures that he was beginning to lose count of them.

He would be stuck in this day forever if he didn't do something more drastic to save Lisbon. Saving her would mean helping himself off this merry-go-round of despair he was trapped on, after all. At some point, if he did not lose his mind completely, something would work. Perhaps a head-on confrontation with the truth would turn things around. At least, he thought it was worth a try.

With that, Jane sought out Lisbon in the staff kitchen. He had things timed so well now that he arrived just as she was about to take her first sip. With both hands he reached for the cup, taking care that it did not spill from her shock at his audacity, and poured it down the drain.

"You must have a death wish today," said Lisbon, shocked awake into coherent speech.

Never in a million years did she think she would be able to predict this man's actions. Granted, there were often rational reasons behind his actions, but Jane rarely took the time to explain them. It was what got him into trouble with so many people, Lisbon herself included at times.

"Not just yet," Jane answered, again struck by the irony of her words. She never ceased to bring reminders of what would happen to her up in their conversations. "Walk with me."

"Uh, where are we going?"

"To get you some better coffee. My treat, anywhere you like."

Lisbon looked as if she was about to ask him what he was up to this time, but decided ignorance was bliss. It wasn't worth the effort to try to get the truth out of him this early in the morning.

"Fine, but we're taking my car," she said, breaking eye contact and walking out of the kitchen. Jane hurried to catch up. "You wouldn't ever be able to walk where I want to go."

"Subtle dig on my physical fitness there. Nice one Lisbon."

At this, Lisbon turned her head towards him and flashed Jane a brief, triumphant smile. Her whole face changed in a matter of moments from seriousness to lighthearted joy and back again. Jane met it with a smile of his own, feeling privileged that he was the one that brought the smile to her face.

* * *

The place that Lisbon drove them to was a tiny dark bistro squished unceremoniously between a neighboring bookstore and what appeared to be an antique store. Inside, a single window illuminated wood floors that met steel barstools. There were a total of two short tables and chairs, and both were occupied. If one looked closely enough in the feeble light, around the far side of the curved counter where customers ordered there was a staircase. Downstairs, the cramped room opened up into a cozy collection of armchairs, overstuffed couches, and tables, lighted only by a few lamps here and there.

Jane stopped Lisbon with her hand on the door to the bistro, pushing the door shut as she pulled it.

"Before we go in, promise me that whatever happens in there you won't storm out in a huff," said Jane. As an afterthought he added for safety, "Or arrest anyone."

"Patrick Jane, just what are you planning—"

"Nothing you can't fix."

Lisbon looked at him incredulously. He'd never even been to the place with her before, unless he had followed her at some point, which she wouldn't put past him. There was little that he could do in a coffee shop, though, right?

"Please? You know your curiosity will get the better of you in this situation."

"I'm going to regret this later, aren't I?" asked Lisbon, saying it more as a statement than a question.

"Probably." Jane accompanied this with a smile.

Lisbon let out a resigned sigh, and Jane moved so she could open the door. They walked in, and immediately Jane moved towards the counter.

"Excuse me, have you ever seen me here before?" he asked the cashier with his trademarked charming smile. "My colleague here," he said, pointing to Lisbon, "is wondering if I've been spying on her."

Lisbon squirmed inside, already wanting to flee.

"Nope," answered the young woman with a smile of her own. "I would've remembered you."

"Thank you," said Jane, still smiling. He turned to Lisbon. "See? Nothing to worry about."

A pointed look was all Jane got for an answer as Lisbon ordered for both of them.

"You're still not convinced," he said as they waited.

"Because there's always a trick with you!"

"No tricks this time," said Jane, thinking of how the day itself had been playing tricks on him, "at least by me." He paused for a moment, examining Lisbon, and then continued.

"I'll tell you what's going on soon, Lisbon, but you won't like it." Lisbon didn't bite, and so Jane went on.

"First though, I need to demonstrate what's been happening the last…oh…month or so."

At this, Lisbon looked the slightest bit more interested. Jane carried on.

"From the moment we go downstairs I will predict everything that's going to happen. I'll even ask everyone down there if they recognize me—" at this Lisbon looked incredulous, so Jane quickly amended, "no, _you_ will ask everyone if they've ever seen me before, and they will without a doubt answer no."

Lisbon considered a moment, and then answered.

"All right, I'll do it, but on one condition."

Jane raised an eyebrow as she handed him his tea from the counter. He knew she couldn't resist one of his schemes, and now his interest was piqued at her mention of a caveat.

"Write down everything that's going to happen on this napkin before we go down there."

* * *

Lisbon held her coffee in one hand and a wad of napkins filled with untidy, hastily scribbled writing in the other. Although she still didn't believe that even Jane could predict the exact actions of complete strangers, she always seemed to get swept up in one of his crazy experiments, or games, or whatever the hell they were.

As they descended the stairs, she remembered the first thing Jane had written. _Two blond women will come up the stairs and apologize when they bump into us_. Sure enough, the women were there right on cue, and apologized profusely when they ran into Jane and Lisbon on the narrow staircase. Coincidence, Lisbon decided.

Once they sat down at a small oval tea table, she glanced at the next sentences. _The man (name's Steve) sitting in the red armchair will be typing on a laptop. He's an intern and will soon get up for more water._ Again, it was not long before the man got up to pour himself a drink. Lisbon couldn't resist asking him as he passed by if they'd met him before (as "he looked so familiar!") and what his name was since she couldn't remember. Jane smirked at Lisbon's acting, and almost laughed out loud when the man enthusiastically replied: "Steve. And you are?" It took a few awkward moments for Jane to step in and untangle Lisbon from the ill-advised pickup line she had used. After a disgruntled Steve left, Jane could not help teasing her.

"Now, I'd say that blush is mostly from me implying we were a couple, but it could also be from embarrassment at your social faux pas."

"Hush," said Lisbon, blushing even more. "What else do you have written here? I can barely read it…" she trailed off, deciphering some more of Jane's spidery handwriting.

_The middle-aged woman (Carla) in the far corner will get a phone call. She'll get into an argument with the caller (her mother Janice) and leave without drinking three sips of her mocha latte._ Lisbon had just finished reading this when the woman's cell phone rang. This was getting to be a bit much.

"Okay, so you have all these people in on your little joke at my expense," said Lisbon.

"Go ahead. Ask anyone down here if they've met me before. I can tell you what their answer will be."

"This is just crazy, even for you," Lisbon said, watching the distraught Carla exiting up the stairs.

"You're not going to read any more of them?"

"I hope to God you're joking."

"There was some really good stuff in there!" Jane rifled through the napkins. "Wait until the bus boy arrives to clean up the dishes." He held up a napkin and waved it with glee.

"You're acting certifiably insane," said Lisbon, and then added as an afterthought, "even more than normal."

"It pains me to hear that, Lisbon," said Jane. "But if you're tired of the demonstration, I'll tell you what's been going on."

Lisbon crossed her arms and replied crossly: "I'm listening, Nostradamus."

* * *

Jane proceeded to tell Lisbon the short version of what he had experienced during the past month. He finished with the fact that he had gone to every bistro and café within driving range of the CBI headquarters for research in order to get her to believe him. When Lisbon objected that real life wasn't science fiction movies where people got stuck in time loops, Jane had to admit it was far fetched.

"Let me get this straight. You have an eternity of time on your hands and all you do is go to coffee places and people watch all day?"

"Well, you don't know the worst of it yet," said Jane, a bit uncertain how to go on when she put it like that. "I had to make sure that you would believe me. Because otherwise, Lisbon, you die."

"What?"

"I've tried to stop it, but whatever else happens on this day doesn't seem to matter. All that matters is that this is the day you are meant to die." Jane paused to let Lisbon digest this. "I figured," he said in a rare bout of honesty, "that if I showed you what was happening, and how you die, you could avoid it."

"Avoid it." Lisbon sounded unconvinced.

Jane was encouraged by her response so far, and lept straight into his plan.

"You have to go home right now—it would be best if I drove you home—and stay there with your door locked all day. Don't go out under any circumstances."

"Hold on, just what happens to me? How do I die?"

Jane gave her a dispirited look, willing Lisbon not to make him relive her death, but she would not back down.

"You get a call about a case. Near Lassen. We go to a house wanting to question a person of interest to the case. You…don't make it out of the house."

"So you expect me to choose my life over this case. Over my job."

"Of course."

"Jane, I'm not a selfish egotist like you are. Crime fighting's a hard, risky business, and I knew that when I took this job."

"You choose duty over self-preservation. How noble of you, Saint Teresa," said Jane, his words dripping with contempt, yet tinged with slight admiration.

"I don't want to believe what you're saying is true, but if it is, and I'm going to my death, then that's the right thing to do." Lisbon stood up and looked down at Jane for her parting words. "I'll do everything I can to avoid dying," she said, avoiding his eyes. "But you can't tell me not to do my job."

She left him sitting in front of her coffee and his tea, stunned. If she had but looked back once, his expression as he watched her leave would have given her a much better reason to avoid death.

* * *

Ah, Jane's getting increasingly more and more desperate...what will he try next?


	5. Chapter 5

This chapter was the hardest to write so far. I'm still not sure I got their emotions across so I'd be glad to hear what people think.

* * *

"I believe that everything happens for a reason," said Van Pelt, prim and proper in her desk chair, never taking her eyes off her computer screen.

Conversations were one of the major ways Jane could get the team off their assigned lines for the day, and so he spent a large amount of time poking and prodding the team members. There were few secrets left uncovered during these conversations.

"Nonsense," replied Jane. Leave it to Van Pelt to take a simple question he posed and answer it with her own metaphysical twist.

"Aren't you the one who always says there're no coincidences?" asked Lisbon, unable to keep herself from commenting as she walked out of her office.

"In murder investigations," said Jane to Lisbon. "Completely different set of circumstances."

"What if they're more similar than you thought?" Van Pelt interjected. "You might not look back at this day as the turning point in some part of your life, but something you thought insignificant at the time could change your viewpoint just slightly and change you. Forever."

"Is this what your yoga instructor tells you to get you to go to class every week?"

Van Pelt looked uncomfortable.

"Twice a week?"

She squirmed under his scrutiny even more.

"Oh my, three times a week. She's making a handsome sum from you, Grace."

"My point is that in hindsight, everything fits together. All our choices, all our decisions affect others and ourselves. Even the most random pieces fit together to create our lives."

"Yeah, I mean, that's how Cho got his girlfriend: random events, the right hand of fate played by an old Chinese lady..."

"Shut up Rigsby," said Cho a lethally smooth tone of voice. Rigsby and Van Pelt exchanged looks, and Rigsby mouthed something like "sorry."

"Jane," Van Pelt continued, "let me ask you a question. Do you believe in anything bigger than yourself?"

"Not that I can think of," lied Jane smoothly, "except perhaps for revenge."

In the end, lies blinded Jane to the obvious truth. Jane had spent a substantial amount of time of his life lying. As he didn't hold much with lies to soften or obscure the truth, there were two main types of lies he told: lies to uncover the truth and lies to hide it. The former gave him black eyes, bloody noses, and a paycheck every month. The latter were ones that he believed to be true.

If Jane had stopped believing his own lies, he would've seen how the torture he was currently going through was of his own making. By rationalizing his attempts to save Lisbon as attempts to save himself, he was stuck in this day forever, watching _Groundhog Day_ during the night and scoffing at the romantic plotline, watching over Lisbon during the day, trying to be proactive yet in reality powerless. His breakthrough would not come easily. Lies you tell yourself are very hard to disprove.

"How about you, Lisbon, do you believe in anything bigger than yourself?" asked Jane, eager for any information, as most of her secrets were still intact.

Lisbon considered for a moment, and then shrugged, "Sometimes I do; other times I don't."

"Interesting."

"Yeah, that word comes up way too often when you're talking to me," Lisbon said with a slight frown. Jane wondered how limited the stock phrases this day had to fit any situation that came up. It was depressing.

"You have that crease in your forehead again," Jane smiled, diverting the conversation into more pleasant channels.

"Ever notice that it mostly happens when I'm talking to you?"

Lisbon unfolded her arms and retreated back into her office. Jane thought for few moments, then followed her, before she had time to lock the door. He walked up to her desk, hands in his pockets, and loomed over her.

"What is it you sometimes believe in?"

"Nothing," she said, looking up at him.

"Oh don't lie to me. You believe in the law; that's for sure. And justice, I know you believe in that. Both of those are the driving forces in your life. Back there, though, you were thinking of something else. What was it?"

Lisbon looked up at him, but still did not speak, her face devoid of reaction for all of Jane's lures. When she finally spoke, however, Jane knew she was speaking the truth, for her eyes betrayed her thoughts.

"Redemption."

* * *

There were two flickers of light that Jane would recognize in any given day. One was if he could get the day to deviate from its pattern, even in the most mundane of details. It gave him a sense of control, helped him feel less suffocated by predestined events. The other was if he could keep Lisbon smiling the majority of the day. This hadn't happened yet, but it usually started with bringing her a very strong cup of coffee in the morning and went on from there. Often the mornings were spent getting Lisbon to play his games after he got some caffeine into her.

"Close your eyes," Jane crooned.

"Please not this again," complained Lisbon. "I can't think of any more 20th century presidents, with or without my eyes closed."

"No presidents, no mind reading," Jane reassured her, "just a simple experiment."

Lisbon looked at him, dubious.

"When I ask you a question, all I want you to do is answer with the first thing that pops into your head."

"Fine." Lisbon closed her eyes, knowing there was no arguing with Jane in this sort of mood.

"I want you to imagine the most important person to you. Do you see that person?"

"Yes."

"You know that person is in mortal danger from someone. How do you protect them?"

"Police detail. 24 hour surveillance."

"That fails. They're going to die if you don't do something."

"Um…"

"First thing that comes to mind."

"I protect them myself, no matter what."

"You can't predict everything that's going to happen. You might mess up. One wrong step is all it takes. What do you do?"

"I take their place."

"You take their place?"

At this reaction from Jane, Lisbon couldn't help but open her eyes and study him. What she saw confused her. There was barely concealed shock and horror written on his features.

"I'd die for them. That's what protecting someone no matter what means."

The majority of people who met Patrick Jane saw a man haunted by Red John, by the deaths of his wife and child, by the mistakes that caused those deaths. They were wrong. You cannot be haunted when you are already dead. The dead are not haunted. They haunt. And so Patrick Jane haunted Red John's footsteps—as a wraith, a shadow, insubstantial as smoke dispersed by the wind. But the wind kept forgetting to blow, and Jane still existed. In this case, Jane was for the first time ever haunted by Lisbon's words.

* * *

The day began as any other, after a night of insomnia. Jane got up. He ate breakfast. He drove to the CBI. From that point on, he waited. For Jane, this was the hardest part, because he wasn't very patient at all.

Unlike Jane, Lisbon was finding this day normal, which was perfectly fine with her. The case the team got a call for turned out to be routine. What's more, Jane had behaved during the time at the crime scene. No rudeness, no desecrating the bodies, no compromising the crime scene. It was an uneventful, unmemorable day, until Jane decided to pick the lock of the house they had driven to in the early evening.

At that moment, time seemed slow down for Lisbon. Cho went to clear the upstairs, and Lisbon started to move through the house methodically, calling out the suspect's name at intervals. It was not until too late that Lisbon realized Jane was not waiting outside the door like she told him to, and neither was he following her. Lisbon had circled back to the front hallway through the living room and then the dining room, floorboards creaking with each step. Where did that bastard go? She called up to Cho, but there was no answer to her question. Feeling more and more uneasy, she stepped back into the living room, onto the carpet that hid the sound of her steps, and round the corner into the kitchen.

As she entered the kitchen, in the split second she stood there unable to react, she saw a man holding a gun pointed at her. There was no way he could miss—he was too close—and it was a lethal shot. Once the shot fired, there was no turning back. Lisbon knew then that she would die, and all her thoughts were fixed on whether Jane would get out of this house alive or not. As she fell, she did not feel pain. The shot rang out, but she did not bleed.

In front of her, Jane stood where she had stood before he pushed her away, teetering on unsteady legs. As he crumpled to his knees, Lisbon lifted her head to greet the blood beginning to spot Jane's suit on one side. Cho took out the suspect and Lisbon caught Jane as he slumped to the floor. She lowered him to the floor and took off her jacket, fingers catching on the buttons in her haste to get it off, to stem the stain that was spreading with every second that passed. While Cho barked choppy sentences into the phone, Lisbon tore her eyes off the wound, for she could not speak when it clouded her vision. Jane's eyes were snapped shut, and Lisbon saw shock start to take him as she spoke.

"I told you to stay outside. Will you ever listen to me?"

"I listened to you," Jane said, opening his eyes to meet hers. "I finally started listening to you. Just not when you said to stay outside."

Lisbon shook her head in disbelief. The red Jane had started to lend the floor made her swear and shout to Cho, but his reply was not encouraging.

"Damn it, Jane, don't you _dare_ think of dying on me, or—"

"Or what, you'll shoot me?" asked Jane, trying not to wince as he almost laughed.

"Ha, ha," Lisbon deadpanned. Only Jane would try to joke at a time like this. "Seriously, when are you going to get it through your thick skull that I don't need you to save me?"

The look that accompanied these words told Jane what she left unsaid: she didn't think she deserved to be saved.

"Do too."

Lisbon pushed harder on his wound, but the blood kept staining the floor, his vest, her jacket, and it would not stop. Jane took smaller and shorter breaths, trying not to focus on how hard it was beginning to take them.

"Jane!" Lisbon called out to him from what seemed a long distance. "Jane, look at me."

It was all that she could do to keep calm, to do nothing but wait. This was just like Jane, to be selfish and egotistic even as he bled to death.

"We need you, okay? Like you said, we can't cope without you."

Jane's eyes shut, then fluttered open, as if he fought back unconsciousness through sheer willpower. Why did he think it was fine to sacrifice himself, when her life, she realized as the shadows stole the light from his eyes, wouldn't be worth living without him?

"No," Jane said in a quiet, subdued voice. "They have you, Saint Teresa. You're worth much more than I am." To the team, and to him, he realized. It didn't come as a shock to him now, at the end of all things, that he had tried so hard to keep her from dying not because he wanted to escape this hellish day, but because she meant so much to him. Because he loved her.

"I'm not worth more than you, Jane, and if you can't see the value your life has for others, you're a miserable fool."

"Others?" Jane asked, just managing to let out a shaky breath. "Pretty vague word."

Lisbon felt furious that he was intent on deliberately misinterpreting her words and throwing them back at her, empty and lifeless without context. He wanted to drag out what was hidden behind her innocuous words, which she hid behind to keep her strong, which kept her safe from vulnerability, which made her a "saint" without feelings or desires. Fine. He wouldn't want to see what the light would expose.

"Want me to spell it out for you, genius? _Me_. _I_ can't cope without you."

Jane paled even more under the ashen hue his skin was beginning to take. "What?"

"You heard me just fine," Lisbon said softly, lowering her head in defeat. "I need you, so don't leave me. Please Jane…"

"Liz…"

The tone of this single syllable brought Lisbon's head sharply up to meet his eyes, where she saw the rest of what he did not have the strength anymore to say. His eyes looked at her with such tenderness and relief and unadulterated joy that her heart ached, and she dipped her head to meet his. The last two things Jane felt before his heart stopped beating was the feathery touch of her lips on his and the gentle fall of her tears running down his cheeks.

Jane woke that morning with his tears joining hers. He looked up at the smiley face on his wall, and then at his cell phone. One glance at the same date he had seen so many times before told him that he had died yesterday, and yet lived. The curse on this hellish existence was not broken, for it was still the same day. However, to Jane it didn't feel like it was the same hopeless, repetitive sequence of dismal events. Never before had he felt such despair give way to such hope. He thought he had lost the capacity to hope after the death of his wife and child, yet now that the embers of hope in his soul had been stirred, there was nothing he could do but surrender to the fact that Lisbon, with her honest words and the tears that accompanied them, had given him a reason to live. Now that Jane knew the reason he could not bear to lose Lisbon was because he loved her, even this day seemed less bleak. He set his mind off to think of radically different ways to cheat fate, and for the first time gave a half smile back to the face on the wall.

* * *

Hopefully not as many torturous days left for Jane, but who knows...


End file.
